


Armless Fun

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [8]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Gen, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 22:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20053330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Clint plans a simple prank involving Bucky’s metal arm and lots of neon paint but with Rocket as his accomplice it was bound to go wrong.





	Armless Fun

After everything that had happened and all he had seen (alien armies, killer robots and psychopaths bent of complete and utter decimation to name but a few), there really wasn’t much left in the universe that could surprise Clint anymore. When he was first introduced to a talking racoon and his tree son, it barely registered on his weird shit-o-metre. 

Over the years, Clint had found himself growing surprisingly close with the bizarre creatures, especially Rocket. Where others sometimes struggled with his sharp tongue and twisted wit, Clint had long since grown accustomed to such traits. After all, how could he not when his boyfriend was the absolute embodiment of tall, dark and brooding. 

It certainly helped that Clint and Rocket also had a surprising amount in common. Both had come from abusive backgrounds, Clint with his father and for Rocket the scientists who had created him. Each had a history unwanted modification - it wasn’t a competition but Rocket frequently argued that being torn apart and physically remade far outweighed Clint having his mind muddled by a god - and both were majorly depressed (although Clint’s therapist assured him often that he was making progress, it didn’t always feel that way). They also shared a penchant for pranks. 

Their initial prank war on each other soon turned into a collaborative war on everyone else in the team, the pair deciding it was better to work together and go big than waste their energy on small individual annoyances. It had been great until Sam stepped in and gave them a stern talking too, the righteous kind which would have made Steve proud. 

The truth was, though, that although no-one said it (especially not Sam), the team - what was left of it, at least - actually appreciated their silliness from time to time. The losses of the Infinity War were, even now, still fresh in their minds and it never hurt to have Clint and Rocket break the tension which hung over the Avengers like a dark, stormy cloud. 

Over the past weeks, with the coming of a gentle, warm summer, that cloud had lifted somewhat; they would never have tried it if everyone - one dark, brooding, super soldier in particular - hadn’t been in a semi-stable state of mind. They may both have been idiots but they weren’t stupid. 

Late last night, after Bucky had drifted off to sleep, Clint had crawled out of his bed and grabbed the metal arm from the bedside table. In what Quill had described as “some lame-ass James Bond shit” upon initially hearing their plan, Clint left the prosthetic in a pre-arranged pickup location (a vent in a shared bathroom a few floors down) for Rocket to collect and return before the morning came. 

The plan was simple. Take the arm. Paint the arm in ridiculously garish colours. Return the arm. Hide for the next few days until the bright neon designs faded from the vibranium surface. A good, simple prank that would bring a spark of joy to anyone who happened to see the famous assassin sporting a sparkly new appendage. However, when Clint woke and the bedside table was arm free, he knew something had gone wrong. 

Sliding out from beneath the covers, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s shoulder as he always did when he left the bed, Clint crept out the room and headed down to the lab. He figured that would be where Rocket was; Rocket, like many of the Avengers, suffered from terrible nightmares so rarely indulged in sleep and only ever when he felt safest. However, since Groot and Dax were out with Carol at the moment, some problem on the edge of the solar system drawing them away for a few days, the raccoon had put off sleeping until they returned safely. 

Clint padded through the Compound in his pyjamas, almost tripping over the frayed bottoms too many times to count in his sleepy state. He waved at the security camera above the door and swayed on his feet as FRIDAY ran her checks before granting him access and opening the door.

He wasted no time in asking, “Where is it?”

“Dunno what you mean.” Rocket grumbled. He didn’t even look up from the chunk of metal in front of him on the bench. He just continued working away, soldering joints and cutting seemingly random wires as he explored the functions of the scrap piece of junk. 

“It’s too early and I don’t have enough coffee in me yet to deal with that shit. You were supposed to return it after Quill slapped neon paint over it.”

“Maybe he ain’t finished painting it yet.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Rocket, his somewhat more murderous tendencies rising quickly to the surface. “Where is Bucky’s arm?”

“You know how long I’ve waited for that?” Rocket asked, crossing the workstation. He waved a wrench in front of Clint’s face, not in the least intimidated by him. “Years. That’s how long. And then you just deliver it me and expect me not to take it apart and see how it works?”

Rocket kicked a chair at Clint just in time to catch him before his legs gave out and he hit the floor. 

Raking his fingers through his hair, Clint asked stiffly, “You took it apart?”

“Sure.”

“Can you put it back together again?”

Rocket thought about it for a moment. “Eventually.”

“Oh, god. He’s gonna kill me.”

“It’s not that bad.” Clint looked up from his lap hopefully, only to completely deflate once again when Rocket showed him half an arm with the wrist bent out at an unnatural angle and the middle finger right up. With far too much glee, Rocket said, “It’s been locked like that all night. Think I must have caught a wrong wire somewhere. On the plus, it now shoots fire.”

This was only getting worse, Clint thought, already imagining the million ways Bucky might murder him for facilitating this. “I have to move. Maybe I’ll go to Australia. Change my name. Hide in the outback.”

“He’d still find you. Trained assassin, remember?”

“Shit. You’re right. Wanna lend me your ship?” Clint asked desperately. “One galaxy over should be enough, right?”

“I’d go for two just to be safe. Look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?” If there was, Clint certainly couldn’t see it right now.

However Rocket was all too happy to supply his answer. “Sure. I made an awesome cup holder from the metal plates in the upper arm. You should see the wiring in there. Beautiful temperature regulation system.”

Ignoring that thought completely, Clint buried his head in his hands and started drafting his resignation letter. After trusting a known criminal… Unfortunate circumstances pertaining to a talking woodland creature and a stolen arm… Taking a one way trip to Andromeda… We were only meant to paint it pink… 

He nearly fell off his seat when a warm pair of lips brushed against the back of his neck. Bucky slipped his arm around Clint’s waist, holding him still as he pressed his body to Clint’s back. Just as he had every day before, Clint wondered what he’d done to deserve someone as amazing as his boyfriend and thanked whatever angel had designed his muscular super-soldier to fit so perfectly with him. 

Clint moaned softly as he felt Bucky’s morning erection against his ass, his gentle kiss just below his ear in the exact spot which always made Clint shiver. His voice low and thick with sleepy desire, Bucky muttered, “Morning sugar. Missed you in bed.”

“Can’t you go do that somewhere not here? Don’t need to see you getting nasty while I’m working.” Rocket asked, rolling his eyes as the men’s fingers began to wander over their partner’s body. “No? Guess I’ll move, then. Not like I was here first or anything.”

Barely aware of the complain, Clint leant back into his boyfriend’s chest and closed his eyes while Bucky continued to press hot kisses to his neck, jaw, cheek. His breath was coming unevenly now, Bucky’s hand slowly heading south as he rolled his hips against Clint’s ass. It was so perfect but with every touch the dark feelings inside his mind grew stronger until he could take it no longer. 

“IstoleyourarmlastnightasajokeandthenRocketbrokeit,” Clint blurted out, unable to hold it in anymore. The guilt at keeping this secret from Bucky was just too much, especially when he was being so friendly. “Pleasedon'tkillmeIwon'tprankyoueveragainIpromise.”

Bucky paused then pressed an even deeper kiss to Clint’s neck, continuing as if he’d said nothing at all. “Okay, sugar.”

“This is not how I thought you’d take it,” Clint said honestly, twisting in his boyfriend’s grip so that they were facing one another. He set his legs between Bucky’s, creating space between them so that he could try and get a proper read on Bucky’s reaction while still maintaining physical contact. “You really aren’t angry?”

“No. I overheard you planning this the other day and got Rocket to help me get back at you instead.”

Clint swung his head around to the raccoon, who had practically tuned out of the conversation entirely now as he collected his things to move away from the pair before things got messy. “You two timing, backstabbing jerk." 

"Yeah? What of it?” From anyone else, the insult would probably have cut deep but Rocket knew Clint didn’t really mean it. 

“All this time you were working against me! What about our agreement to always have each other’s back? I thought we were a team in this!”

With a shrug, Rocket said simply, “Your boyfriend is scarier than you are.”

“You both suck,” Clint grumbled like a petulant child who had finally accepted defeat. 

Bucky grabbed Clint’s waist and pulled him closer, brushing their lips together. It was soft and gentle, the kind of kiss which was meant to pacify, but quickly turned into something far hotter. His fingers digging into Clint’s skin, sure to leave a few bruises, not that Clint minded at all, Bucky murmured, “Let me make it up to you.”

“What about your arm?”

“Let Rocket play.” Too focused on Clint to notice the way Rocket’s eyes lit up at the prospect of being left truly unsupervised with the arm, Bucky drew his tongue up the length of Clint’s jaw and nipped sharply at his earlobe. Voice low, dripping with promise, Bucky said, “Anyway, I don’t need two hands when I’ve got so many other ways to make you scream. And, sugar, you know I will.”


End file.
